Slow Forward, Day 20 - The Dry Creek

If I want to center and ground myself, I need to get outside. I need my feet on the earth and to slowly settle into the natural world. 

I’ve known this about myself for a long time, but it really came home during the pandemic, when the only place to “go” other than another room in my house was out in the woods.  In the last 3-4 years I have thoroughly explored the full 5-acre property we live on, finding the boundary lines with the park. 
 
The dry creek called to me for years, but I thought that the hill was simply too steep. I was afraid of sliding down into the rocks that line the hillside. In 2020 I finally hiked over into the preserve far enough to discover a way down to the creek that was gently rolling, and incidentally, full of chanterelle mushrooms in summer. From there, I can wind my way back along the stream to the bottom of my property. 
 
The view there is stunning. In the early spring it’s full of ferns and jack in the pulpit. Next come the native azaleas, with their gorgeous pink and white blooms. 

In summer it turns into a native grassland, and the mud which forms when the creek dries is full of deer and racoon prints. Looking up at the large boulders which frame our backyard is a completely different experience from walking on them above. I like to think of the Cherokee they sheltered a hundred or more years ago. 

There’s a convenient tree with huge roots that grow along the ground to sit on. It really is “my spot.” When I need peace or a quiet place to think, or if I just want to observe the forest, this is where I go.

I haven’t been able to be down there comfortably since early last summer. Then, the native azaleas were spectacular, and I had to go, albeit very carefully. On that walk, I meandered a long way along the creek and realized I’d missed a good spot to cross over. I put my hand on a dead and rotting tree that lined the creek for support, and suddenly heard an incredible racket over my head. It was the Barred Owl we often hear in the evenings while sitting on the porch. I realized with a start that I’d found the owl’s nesting spot. So sorry, friend.

Over the next couple of weeks, I returned to a rock a respectable distance and an easy walk away with binoculars to watch mama owl sitting on the nest, which was at the top of the tall dead stump.  I was lucky enough to be there the day the baby owl hatched, and watched the eggshell be pushed out of the nest.  After that, I was less inclined to walk down there and disturb the young family. 
 
I hope to go down this weekend and see if that tree is still standing, and if the owls have returned. The Phoebes are nesting under our screen porch and Carolina wrens are shoving their messy piles of leaves and twigs into every crevice they can find around the deck area. It’s that time of year.

As the pace of life picks up for both people and birds, I know where to find my Slow Forward. Now that my knee is healed, I can’t wait to get back there.

All photos property of Robbin Marcus.